Page 122 of My French Love Affair

“Don’t be daft. Youloveus,” Jas corrects, “and right now, we lovethis.”

“Wait. We’resogoing out after this,” Emma beams. “And youhaveto invite him.”

I blink. “What?”

Leah tilts her head, considering it.

“Not a bad idea.”

Jas shrugs. “Yeah. I wouldn’t hate it.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Absolutelynot.”

Emma pouts. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m not inviting him out with us,” I say firmly. “It was a one-time thing.”

Leah smirks into her wine glass, looking unconvinced, while Jas just shakes her head.

“Oh, babe. You can’treallythink it’s over.”

I swallow hard, my stomach twisting.

Because I really want to say yes.

But deep down, I already know the answer.

* * *

The yacht glides into the harbor, the hum of the engines quieting as it pulls alongside the dock.

The towering cityscape of Monaco sparkles under the night sky, the deep blue sea reflecting the golden glow of the streetlights, but I barely take it in.

All I feel is relief.

Relief that we’re back, that I can finally get off this damn boat.

Relief that I can put some literal and metaphorical distance between me and the walking temptation currently ruining my life.

I fall into step with the girls, my body still wound far too tight as I move towards the exit. Around us, people are still caught up in the dizzying, champagne-fueled haze of the evening -

And then I seehim.

Frederic is standing near the exit of the yacht, locked in conversation with a small group of men who he clearly can’t get away from. I don’t recognise them, but I don’t have to.

It’s the same type of crowd that has been around him all evening, the kind that naturally gravitates towards people like him.

But even as they talk, even as one of the men gestures animatedly in conversation, his eyes are on me.

Dark. Intense. Unwavering.

The second our gazes collide, my breath catches.

Heat prickles at the base of my spine, my heart thudding violently against my ribs as a familiar, unwelcome rush ofwantsears through me.

No.

No, no,no.

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